


The Prologue

by Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)



Series: You're Not in This Alone [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Comfort, Back injury, Cara's already adopted him as her brother, Din isn't used to having friends, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Lant's a pretty cool dude, Major Character Injury, QM is like a son to me, whump and caretaking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:28:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing
Summary: Din defeats Gideon while suffering terrible consequences from the battle on Nevarro. Cara remains by his side, seeing him through it all.This is the prologue to the original work in my You're Not In This Alone series, but can be read as a standalone.
Series: You're Not in This Alone [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867132
Comments: 68
Kudos: 222





	1. His World Spun Out of Control

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this last summer and it's nearly complete. I'm also nearly finished with the next chapter in It's All Up For Interpretation, but thought I'd introduce you to how it all got started--give y'all a little snack while you wait on the other installment to update. 
> 
> Chapter 1 here, it's a bit short, but the remaining chapters are much meatier. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

Standing on the lava flats of Nevarro, Cara slid her hands over her head, gripping, while she watched Mando let go of Gideon’s TIE Fighter. 

At first, she was concerned at the way he seemed to freefall away from it. 

Then it exploded.

Cara punched her hands high in the air with a shout of victory. Greef grabbed her shoulder, giving it a hearty jostle as he yelled something about Mando doing the impossible. She wasn’t sure what exactly he said. She wasn't focused on the man beside her. She was too busy focusing on her friend descending from the sky.

The TIE Fighter crashed in the distance and she barely gave it a thought. Walking toward where the Mandalorian was coming in for a landing, she shielded her eyes as she looked up and frowned. Something was off. She couldn’t tell what, but just by how he was coming in, something was way off. 

Smile slipping from her face, she upped the pace. Taking a few jogging steps, she was still a good ten meters away, watching as he stopped and just hovered about a foot above the ground.

_What was he waiting for?_

Cara didn’t have the time to find out as the Phoenix cut off and Mando crumpled to the ground like a puppet without strings. She hollered for him and bolted forward.

Lying on his stomach, the Mandalorian wasn’t moving.

“Mando!” Cara called again as she sprinted across the uneven terrain. 

She was still a good ten feet away from him when she picked up on the sound of his pain. Reaching him, she saw his hands clenched into fists beside his head. His breathing was shitty and desperate enough to bring tears of compassion to her eyes as she dropped down at his side.

“Mando, hey, buddy. Talk to me.”

He didn’t answer as he panted hard a few times before another strangled groan tore from his throat.

Greef trotted up beside them, puffing, “What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know yet.” Cara spoke as she leaned over the wounded Mandalorian, “Mando...” Her hands landed on his shoulders. “Mando, talk to me. Where’re you hurt?”

His voice was tight, twisted with pain as she finally got an answer. “My _—fuck..._ My head.”

“Shit.” Flashing back to being trapped by fire inside the cantina, Cara ran her fingers around the edge of his helmet. Her hand came away dry and she exhaled a shuddering breath of relief. 

“Okay, you’re not bleeding again. So that’s good. Can you roll over?”

“No—! Don’t... _don’t move me,”_ he ground out.

“What is it?”

“My back—something’s wrong. Can’t... feel my legs.”

Cara felt the blood drain from her face as she looked down the length of her friend. He was in the same position since landing. Weak, squirming movements tremored through his frame as he fought the pain. 

Those involuntary tremors didn’t make it below the area of his hips. 

Gripping his hand, she told him, “Okay. You hang in there. We’re going to get you some help.” She whipped around to face Greef, “He needs some medical out here, _now.”_

The chief to the hunters guild held up a hand, nodding as he spoke over his comm. He’d heard. The way he was barking orders, Cara got an idea of the level of pull he had around there.

Watching Karga stride away for a few paces away, Cara stood up and scrambled around the Mandalorian to where his visor was pointing. She dropped down to the ground again. Laying on her stomach so he could see her, she closed her hand around the fist clenched beside his helmet.

“Hang in there, Mando. Greef is calling in his top-notch medics. They’re going to fix you up. Okay?”

The Mandalorian panted hard a few times, “...the kid...where...?”

“Right here with me.”

She showed him the satchel. The child cooed sadly at him and the Mandalorian’s arm scraped along the lava flats as he stretched the few inches to touch the tiny hand reaching for him.

Closing the little claw in his fingers, he forced out, “Don’t... don’t let him... heal me. Don’t know what it does to him. Already worn out—injured from… earlier.” Cara shook her head as she frowned at him and the Mandalorian breathed fast as he demanded, _“Prom—promise me, Cara.”_

“If that’s what you want, you got it.” This was his kid and his body. If those were his terms, she hated it, but that’s what she would do.

“Five minutes, Mando.” Karga was standing over them again. “Five minutes and help will be here. I’ve lined up the very best care for you, my friend. I guarantee it.” Kneeling beside him, Karga’s hand landed over Mando’s bracer, “Try to rest easy for the moment. Help is almost here.”

Laying on her stomach facing the Mandalorian, Cara listened to him fighting the pain. She squeezed his hand. He returned the gesture with a crushing grip, and she asked, “Is it just your head, or do you have pain in your back also?”

_“... just..._ ” He sounded like he had to swallow, “Just my head. Can’t... I can’t feel my back.”

Cara could tell how hard it was for him to get those last five words out. She couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine the amount of panic he must be holding back. Roles reversed, she was reasonably sure she’d be cool on the outside _—losing her fucking shit_ on the inside.

Writhing, the crown of his helmet scraped against hardened lava, and Karga lunged forward. Grabbing the sides of the Mandalorian’s helm, he halted his movement, ordering, “Hey. No moving.”

The Mandalorian groaned. It was a raw sound of frustrated anguish, and Cara looked straight into his visor. “Don’t move, Din.”

It was the first time she’d spoken his name and it seemed to surprise him just as much as it surprised herself. She’d only learned his name hours before and not because he'd wanted to give it to her. The Moff had smugly broadcasted it for anyone to hear. In her book, that was no reason to start using it.

This though, she’d needed something quick to grab his attention. Something sharp enough to slice through the pain consuming both the man and his good judgment.

Becoming still, his shaky breaths punched through the speaker in his helmet as he seemed to stare back at her. Or perhaps he had his eyes squeezed shut; Cara couldn’t tell. Inches away from the T of his visor, she nailed him with a stern look.

“We don’t have to tell you how critical it is that you remain still.”

The Mandalorian groaned. It was a terrible sound as it choked-off with a gasp and the baby pulled on his gloved fingers with a sad little mewl.

Karga’s large hands remained splayed across Mando’s silver helmet. Keeping up his restrictive hold, the chief dropped the authoritative bite as he soothed, “Easy, my friend. Can you hear the sirens in the distance? Help is coming.”

Rubbing her hand over the injured man’s arm, Cara settled it over his clenched fist again. Squeezing his hand, she released it and reached for his side. Trying to distract him from the pain in his head, she slipped her thumb and forefinger between his armor plates, giving him a little pinch, “Can you feel that?”

Mando spoke with a fractured breath, “Yes.”

“Okay, that’s good. She moved her fingers down a couple of inches and gave him another pinch, “How about there?”

His reply was a breathy groan. _“...yes.”_

Cara dipped a couple of inches lower to the area of his waist, “There?” He didn’t answer, and she pinched a little bit harder, “Mando? Can you feel that?”

“I don’t... I don’t know.”

She moved up a centimeter, “There?”

“Yeah.”

Cara went back to the last spot, “But not there?”

“Maybe... a little bit.”

She inched down to just above his hip, “There?”

“No.”

That time he didn’t hesitate, and Cara grabbed his hand again. “Okay, Mando.” Sirens screamed in the distance as they closed in on their location, and she rubbed a thumb over his knuckles, “Don’t worry.” 

He held her hand, and she responded with a reassuring squeeze, “We’re going to get this figured out.”

_TBC_


	2. Medic, Meet Mandalorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din is brought to the trauma center on Nevarro where he meets his neurosurgeon, Lant, and his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is on the short side. I hope no one minds. <3

* * *

Lant was dead to the world when the ringtone on his comm started screaming. The obnoxious setting was a necessary evil if it was going to have a chance to wake him. Just coming off a double shift at the Med Center, he’d hit the sack less than three hours ago and had properly crashed. 

Cracking open an eye, Lant glared at the unit on the table by the bed. Being the lead neurosurgeon on Nevarro came with many perks and a lot of leeway with how you ran your department. The salary was borderline indecent, and as long as his team continued to crank out results that pleased the powers that be, he got virtually no pushback from the higher-ups on what he asked out of the medical center.

Among all that good, however, there was one sizable circumstance. That being, the big guy more or less owned him. 

It didn’t happen often, but whenever one of Greef Karga’s pet hunters came into the emergency department with an injury that required his specific skill set, he was called in from whatever he was doing to handle the case.

 _Whatever_ he was doing:

In the middle of cooking a seven-course meal? _“It’ll keep, doc. Stuff it in the fridge and get in here.”_

Paragliding off the Strangled Cliffs of Gandriac? _“You just start gliding my way and I’ll have a ship intercept your flight path.”_

Taking your grandma Life-Day shopping? _“Hail sweet granny a speeder and get your ass to the med center, pronto.”_

If he wanted to keep his position, everything stopped when he got the call—and Lant definitely wanted to keep his position. The way his comm kept ringing, he knew that was going to be the case that evening.

Dragging his face across the pillow, Lant slapped down a hand over the unit, silencing it. Shoving it in his ear, he grumbled out his surname. “Zeprad.” Not waiting for the details of his newest case to be revealed to him, Lant forced himself upright.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he listened as he scanned the room for his sneakers. Still dressed in the green scrubs from his last shift, he pushed to his feet. Brushing his hand over his stomach, the neurosurgeon smoothed out a few of the wrinkles from his top as he trudged around his flat, hunting for his shoes.

He knew he wore them home—fairly sure he wore them home...

Finding them in the refresher, he sat on the vac tube’s closed lid. Lant grabbed a shie and shoved his foot in. “He’s what? Mandalorian?”

Lant wrestled on the other one as the med center technician touched on the part about no helmet removal. Pulling at his mouth, Lant responded, “Okay, yeah, that’s gonna make things interesting.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced his brain to kick into gear. “Okay, get um... QM-5. He’s the best neuro-droid we’ve got. I want him. When they bring in the Mandalorian, close them off somewhere and have the droid do a cranial scan.”

Tying the knot on his laces, he got up and threw a hand through his messy blond hair as he turned for the doorway. “They’re bringing him in from the flats?” His arm scraped against the door jamb. He barely noticed bouncing off it as he strode out into the living room.

“Okay. What’s their ETA?” Turning a full circle, Lant searched the room for his ID badge. “What—?” Striding forward, he plucked it out of the fruit bowl in the kitchen. “No. Go ahead and start a bacta infusion, but no meds. Not with a suspected head wound; not until I look at his scans. I’m out the door now. I’ll be five minutes behind them—three if I get lucky with the elevators. Zeprad out.”

* * *

Lant marched into the med center’s emergency department and found his assistant, Anuc, waiting for him.

“Lant,” the Pau’an greeted him as he handed over a datapad. Standing a couple of inches taller than him, the humanoid’s grey skin looked especially pallid that night. Functioning on the same few-hours of sleep, Anuc rubbed his large hand past the maroon lines tattooed over his bald head as he yawned.

Staring at the backlit screen, Lant scanned over the patient’s information, “How is he, Anuc?”

“Conscious, but disoriented. The head wound has him riding the top of the pain chart. Got him to let us remove his armor plates and did a scan. His spine has two vertebrae fractures in the lumbar area: L3 and L4—L4 is a burst fracture. Spinal cord is compromised but intact. No feeling or reflex below the waist.”

Lant’s brows pulled together as he listened. Scrolling through the notes from the field medics and then studying Anuc’s scan, he took a quick moment to learn about his newest patient. It looked like they just arrived a few minutes before him. That was good. He didn’t want the guy to laying around suffering.

Reading through the recent history collected from both the patient and his colleague, Lant probably should have been shocked to read about the canon explosion, the head wound, the bacta, and then the stunt he pulled with the TIE Fighter a short time later. He wasn’t, though. It didn’t even break the top five most absurd activities carried out by one of his patients before landing themselves under his care.

Reaching the end of the patient history, Lant looked up at his assistant. “Where’s the cranial scan?”

Anuc drew in a deep breath, his deep voice rumbling, “That’s turning out to be a problem.” Lant frowned at him and his assistant explained, “The Mandalorian won’t remove his helmet for me.”

“Right...”

“And he has a severe aversion to droids.”

Lant sighed. He’s seen it before. “What room?”

“T-17.”

“All right.” Pushing off the counter, Lant smacked Anuc’s arm with the datapad, “Let’s roll.”

* * *

_“Fucking give him something for the pain!”_

Approaching the trauma room, Lant’s eyebrow raised past the fringe of hair covering his forehead.

“The Mandalorian’s colleague. Some type of soldier,” supplied the Pau’an.

Lant shot him a side glance, “Should be fun...” 

Turning into the room, he gauged two things right off the bat. First, the look of sheer relief from a technician at the doorway as he walked in to take over. Lant attributed that to the soldier standing at the Mandalorian’s bedside. She looked seconds away from taking off heads. Second, Lant registered how badly his patient was hurting, and this before he even got a solid look at the guy. It was clear by listening to his breathing pattern. Laying on the gurney, the Mandalorian was covered with blankets, trembling in pain.

Lant observed how the involuntary movement tapered off somewhere around his waist.

“Give him a vitals wristband and link it to my bracer,” ordered Lant as he stepped up to his patient. “Mando, my name is Lant. I’ll be your neurosurgeon. I’m the guy who’s going to put you back on your feet.” Glancing across the wounded man, he was met by a fierce stare coming from the woman holding the Mandalorian’s hand. He gave her a nod as Anuc stepped up beside him.

His assistant’s grey hand settled over the Mandalorian’s clenched fist, “Mando?” The warrior took sharp breaths as Anuc said, “Need to take off your gloves and vambraces. Don’t worry; just like your armor, we’ll give’em to your friend to hold on to.”

A flexible wristband was placed over the Mandalorian’s pulse point, and Lant touched his arm, “Do you want me to call you Mando, or is there a different name you go by?” It seemed like a frivolous question to ask, considering the guy was clearly suffering, but it was part of a standardized procedure in assessing cognitive awareness from the head wound.

The guy’s helmet ticked toward him a fraction before the cervical collar restricted the movement. A couple of harsh breaths passed through the vocoder in his helmet before a voice worn thin from pain answered, _“Mando...works.”_

“All right.” Lant took the Mandalorian’s hand and reached for the other one. The soldier across from him relinquished her hold and he held both the man’s hands. Leaning over the blackout visor, he asked, “Can you squeeze my hands?” he did, and Lant said, “Good. Can you squeeze harder?” The guy had good, equal strength on both sides; it was good news.

The bracer on his arm sent out a quick five-beep sequence and Lant held onto the man’s hands as he glanced down, reading the vitals scrolling across the small screen.

“Will you _please_ give him something for the pain.”

There was no question mark at the end of that sentence. Bent over his patient still, Lant glanced upward at the Mandalorian’s friend, promising, “Just as soon as possible.”

Releasing the Mandalorian’s hands, Lant touched his arm, “Mando, I need to do a scan of your head before I can help with the pain. That means I need to take off your helmet. I understand the complication your creed brings to the situation. If I can’t do the scan, you are going to have to let my droid do it.”

Groaning through a fractured exhale, he sounded like he tried to swallow before arguing, “N-no... _droids.”_

“Then tell me how we’re going to do this.” The Mandalorian didn’t say anything except to growl at the pain. Shoulders pressed back, he began to squirm, and Lant grabbed his sides. “Hey. No moving. Okay? That’s real important right now.”

The Mandalorian became still again, and Lant grabbed his hand, squeezing.

“I want to give you something for the pain, Mando, but I need to make sure there aren’t any blood clots waiting to throw an aneurysm. Some medications don’t play well with that sort of thing. The scan only takes a few seconds. QM is my best droid. He’s worked on many of my patients, and I promise you, every one of them has lived to talk about it.”

“Let them help you, Mando.” His friend squeezed his hand again. “Think about IG, what he did for us. Think about the kid. He’s depending on you here, buddy.”

Lant looked over and noticed the satchel the friend held tucked under an arm. Peeking around her were a pair of large brown eyes. Long, green ears lay flattened along his fuzzy green head as he observed the man laid out in front of him. Someone so young should never look that anxious.

The young one seemed to be the trump card, though, because then the Mandalorian exhaled a shaky sigh, _“Fine.”_

Patting his arm, Lant told him, “Good man.” He called over his shoulder, “Come on, QM.”

Soft metallic footfalls headed their way and the muscle under his hand tensed. Lant looked back down, “Easy. I’ve worked with this droid for over six years. You can trust him.”

QM stepped up to them, and Lant said, “Q, this is Mando. I need a cranial scan. Give me a DA while you’re at it.” Lant ordered, slipping in their secret code for a patient with a significant droid aversion.

Droid aversions weren’t common, but they happened. When they showed up under his care, experience has told him the roots of distrust usually ran deep. Being aware of the Mandalorian’s issue with him, QM would be sure to be transparent in his actions around him, talking him through everything he did.

Anuc started pulling the curtain around the gurney, and Lant looked down at the Mandalorian, “We’ll leave the room so QM can do the scan. You going to cooperate so we can get you comfortable and fixed up?”

Mando’s visor tipped toward the woman and the child. Breathing fast, he forced out, _“...yes.”_

“Good. Hang in there. Scan only takes a few seconds, and then I can take care of the pain.” Pointing at QM, Lant added, “Place a cranial pressure strip on his forehead while the helmet is off.”

Ordering everyone out of the room, Lant followed behind and closed the door.

* * *

Standing in the hallway, the Lant properly introduced himself to the soldier and found out her name was Cara. Leaving QM to do the cranial scan, Lant explained to her about the pressure strip, a small black strip that, when fixed to the Mandalorian’s forehead, would send cranial pressure readings to the vitals on his bracer.

He’d barely gotten out the last bit when QM shouted for him from within the trauma room.

<Lant, he’s seizing!>

Cursing, he put up a hand, blocking Cara’s advance toward the door as he cracked it open to ask, “Is he concealed?”

<The helmet is back on, yes.>

Cara nailed Lant with a look that dared him to deny her access, and he told her, “Seizures can look alarming. Think of his kid and wait out here.” Turning away from her, Lant and Anuc pushed into the room, letting the door fall shut in their wake.

Approaching the curtained off area, he heard the droid trying to comfort their patient.

<It’s all right. You are having a seizure because of your head injury. The seizure is mild. It will pass soon.>

Ducking under the curtain, Lant looked over the Mandalorian. Not everyone blacks out during a seizure, and picking up his patient’s hand, the medic held it as he leaned over the man’s visor, “Hey, Mando. I know it sucks. Hang in there, man.” Giving his hand a few pats, Lant looked at the droid, “Talk to me, Q.”

Anuc was pulling back the curtain, exposing the gurney to the room as the droid began, <Open basilar skull fracture—only hours old. Previous bacta intervention; fracture is still closing. Contusions present to the brain itself. Swelling and bleeding from the injury site are present, though the bleeding appears to have tapered off. Positive for blood and cranial fluid in his ears and nose.>

Patting the Mandalorian’s hand again, Lant rattled off orders for pain medication, something to counteract the cerebral swelling, and then threw in a mild sedative as well.

<Anticonvulsant?> questioned the droid as it pushed the ordered drugs into the Mandalorian’s IV line.

“Not yet. Let’s see if this resolves on its own.” Lant looked down at the bracer on his arm and watched the vitals scrolling across the small display. He paid particular attention to the cranial pressure reading.

Listening to Mando’s breathing, he picked up a worsening of the rasping pattern he’d been hearing. Seizures can cause an excess of saliva. Laying on his back was no longer the best position for him, and Lant looked at Anuc.

“We’re rolling him.”

Lant squeezed the Mandalorian’s hand as he spoke, “Mando, we’re going to roll you onto your side.” Releasing his hand, Lant talked as he moved down and grabbed behind the knee opposite him, “Don’t worry, Anuc and I are seasoned pros at this.” Pulling the knee towards himself, his other hand landed on Mando’s hip as Anuc took his shoulders. He glanced at the droid. Seeing it holding the sides of the silver helmet, Lant ordered, “Go.”

Gently and meticulously, they kept the Mandalorian’s spine aligned as they eased him onto his side. Almost immediately, he started breathing easier.

<There…> QM spoke softly as its mechanical hand touched Mando’s arm. <That is better now, yes?>

“Anuc, pull up the results of that scan for me,” Lant ordered while he slipped pillows between Mando’s knees and ankles. Retaking the Mandalorian’s hand, he could feel the seizure’s unnatural contraction in the man’s grip, but he also felt a consistent pressure. He was holding on.

Reading the results on the datapad Anuc held for him, Lant rubbed over the side of his patient’s arm with his free hand, soothing, “Hang in there, Mando.” He addressed the droid, “QM; time?”

<The convulsions have been constant for one minute, thirty-seven seconds.>

Lant scowled as he thought, “Okay, if this doesn’t wrap up within the next twenty seconds, give him the anticonvulsant.”

<Understood.>

The steady grip on his hand was backing off.

Lant looked down at his bracer, taking in how the vitals were slowing in a telltale way. Either the drugs were pulling him under, or he was losing consciousness. It was hard to tell without being able to check his eyes. He rubbed the Mandalorian’s arm again, “Alright. This is all the head injury.”

Anuc added, “Convulsions have stopped.”

Lant nodded, “There’s that, at least. The medicine for the swelling is kicking in; I’m watching his pressure readings decreasing by the hundredths. It’s a start.” Facing his patient again, he asked, “Mando, still with us?” He squeezed his hand.

It remained slack in his grip.

“He’s out.” Setting down the Mandalorian’s hand on the gurney, Lant pulled the blankets back over him as he spoke to Anuc, “His vitals are acceptable for now. Keep him on his side and continue to monitor him. I’m going to give his friend an update. As soon as the pressure in his head reduces and he stabilizes more, prep him for surgery. If he keeps responding well to the medications, I hope to start cutting within an hour.”

_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this fic is pretty raw. So, to soothe the ache, I'm going to try to update It's All Up for Interpretation by tonight, just to skip ahead and remind ourselves Din's going to be okay.


	3. And Then The Bottom Fell Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lant brings Cara up to date on Din's condition. Afterward, she sits with Din as she waits for him to wake up from the surgery on his back.

* * *

Lant pulled open the trauma room door and Cara rushed him as soon as he stepped out. Closing the door behind himself, he held up a hand, “He’s okay. The seizure was mild; it resolved itself in under two minutes.”

She started to say something, and he gestured down the hallway. “How about we go talk and I’ll bring you up to speed.”

Bouncing the Mandalorian’s kid in her arms, Cara nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

He led her a short distance down the hall and stopped at the door to one of the family meeting rooms. Glancing in the narrow rectangular window, it appeared to be empty. Cracking the door, he stuck his head in to confirm, then opened it wide and ushered the soldier inside. Lant walked in after and closed the door.

Cara stood by the door, seeming to glance around the room— _surveying_ _the room_ , as many soldiers did when entering a new space. 

There wasn’t much to survey in there.

The room was small. It didn’t take long to take in its powder blue walls or the four white, overstuffed chairs informally arranged around what Lant assumed was supposed to be a modern type of coffee table. Just large enough for two coffee mugs or a couple of magazines, he didn’t know what the hell kind of purpose it could serve that would be anywhere close to useful.

Looking at her as he walked past, Lant gestured to one of the plush armchairs, “Have a seat.”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” groaned Lant as he all but fell back into the chair behind him. Propping his feet on the tiny table, his long legs engulfed the surface as he crossed his ankles. “So, first things first, we got the head scan done and Mando’s pain is under control. He’s resting now.”

Cara breathed out a deep exhale, “Thank you.”

Glancing down at the vitals readout, he didn’t feel bad leaving out the part about the Mandalorian possibly being unconscious. Mando’s readings were still moving in the right direction, and Lant wouldn’t hypothesize a stressful detail like that without being sure about it. 

Facing her again, he continued, “I’ve got him on some of the best pain medication I can without entering him into a danger zone of complications. It’s not the heaviest stuff available, but it should go a long way toward keeping him comfortable. I also gave him something to help calm him. More importantly, he’s on medication to reduce the swelling in his brain. It will take a little bit of time, but between the drugs and the bacta, he should start rebounding soon.”

“Okay, tell me about his actual condition.”

Nodding, Lant didn’t pull any punches that time.

“He’s critical, but his prognosis looks promising. Right now, between his head and his back, the head injury is the most severe. The scan QM performed revealed a recent skull fracture and a brain bleed. Was that previously treated with bacta?”

Holding the child close, Cara nodded.

He’d read it in the Mandalorian’s chart but for accuracy’s sake, he questioned, “How long ago?”

Her eyes flicked over to the clock on the wall, “Almost three hours by now, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, it’s just that he was doing pretty good. After the IG unit used the bacta, Mando was in rough shape at first, but then he started recovering quickly.”

“When did you notice the change?”

“After he landed with the jetpack.”

Lant went back in his mind to the notes he’d scrolled through earlier. “Is that when the TIE Fighter maneuver happened?”

“Yes. Right after that.”

Refusing the yawn trying to happen, he nodded. “If I had to wager, I’d put my money on the sudden altitude change and whatever G-force he was subject to while being yanked behind the spacecraft. He was looking better, but he was still walking around with a serious head injury. Unfortunately, that flight made it worse.”

“What about the seizure?”

Propping an elbow on the armrest, Lant tipped the side of his head against his fist, “Like I said: mild; brought on by the head injury. It resolved without intervention once the cranial swelling began to reduce.”

Cara closed her eyes and stroked a hand over one of the child’s long ears.

Dropping his feet off the table, Lant hung an arm over his knee as he said, “Mando is strong and in top physical condition. Gauging by his cognitive awareness coming in tonight, I’m optimistic for a favorable recovery.”

“But not a _full_ recovery.”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth as he thought. “I wish I could give you a yes or no answer to that. The fact is, there just isn’t one. I can, however, tell you what the imagining predicted: Mando has approximately a thirty-five percent chance in reaching a full recovery for the brain injury.”

Cara blinked at him, pulling the baby closer. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. It was a hard blow he just handed out and Lant sat quietly as she processed.

It only took a moment before she pushed herself off the wall and sank into the seat across from him. The baby in her arms reached for her face, patting her chin with his tiny, three-fingered hand. Smiling down at him, she smoothed a hand over his fuzzy little head. 

“What about his back. He’s paralyzed. Is that...”

“Fixable, yes,” assured Lant.

Cara’s eyes closed again, that time with a relieved sigh, and Lant continued in a mild tone, “We’ll do surgery on his back after the swelling in his brain backs off and he stabilizes. One of the two fractured vertebrae is a burst fracture. That means the bone basically, well, it _burst_ into pieces too small to mend. When that happened, it abraded his spinal cord, causing a condition called spinal shock syndrome—the reason behind the paralysis.” 

Sitting back into the chair again, Lant told her, “The cord is damaged but intact. That’s very good. I’ll go in and remove the bone fragments. Then I’ll fit him with a temporary spacer to protect the cord and keep his spine in alignment while the lab creates a prosthetic vertebra for him. It’ll be an exact match to the one he lost. Once he heals, he’ll never know the difference.”

Lant watched Cara take everything he was throwing at her in stride. Nodding, she looked off into the distance for a moment, then turned back, “When he wakes up, will he be able to walk again?”

Adjusting in his seat, he rolled out the speech he must have given a thousand times before.

“Okay, so the spinal cord is a complex conglomerate of nerves and electrical impulses. The bacta will begin repairing what is damaged, but Mando’s going to need to get a few of those infusions under his belt before we see any big improvements. His recovery will come in stages: First, a return of feeling in the area below the site of injury. The second; his reflex response, and then the third will be mobility. With the bacta, once we hit that first marker, the other two will follow pretty quickly. I’m estimating it’ll be a couple of days before he’s on his feet again. Even then, the cord injury is going to need time to heal, even with the bacta.”

“How much time?”

“With proper rest and physical therapy, approximately three months.”

Cara cursed under her breath, then looked at him, her concern hanging right out there in the open. “Mando’s a soldier… a freaking warrior. His strength is everything to him. Waking up paralyzed… and then taking _months_ before that’s healed...”

Lant reached over the table, his fingertips grazing her knee, “I hear you. I see it all the time with his type. That’s why I’m keeping him lightly sedated. Nothing heavy, just enough to help him cope; until I know he’s got a solid grip on what’s happened to him. It won’t fix anything, but it’ll help.”

Silence settled around them as they looked at each other. When he felt he’d satisfied her questions, he eased into the last bit, “There is one last thing you need to be aware of.” This was going to be another one of those hard blows and Lant kept a light touch on her leg as he spoke.

“With the degree of the head injury, Mando will probably be disoriented and confused when he wakes up after surgery. And, there might be other complications you should prepare yourself for. With a Traumatic Brain Injury or TBI, there are significant cognitive issues he might find himself grappling with. He could have trouble with things like speaking or processing information or problem-solving—”

Cara rubbed her brow, and Lant stressed, “I know it sounds awful and I’m throwing a crap-ton at you right now, but Cara, these are only _possible_ complications. Okay?”

Smirking, she scoffed, “Sounds like some pretty serious ‘possible’ complications, Lant. You really so sure of that favorable recovery you think he’ll reach?”

He didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Yes, Cara, I am. But I would be doing you a massive disservice if I didn’t make you aware of what might crop up once he wakes. I won’t let you go in there uninformed and then be blindsided if he ends up presenting with a major complication.”

Nodding, she rubbed the baby’s back. He’d fallen asleep against her some time ago, and she caressed between his small shoulders as she nodded again. “Okay, I understand.” Flashing him a tense grin, she asked, “Anything else you want to add to the list?”

“Only one more.”

 _“One more...”_ Cara parroted with an anxious laugh as she looked away.

Tapping the side of her knee, Lant sympathized, “It’s an awful lot to take in, Cara. I get it. Just take a moment if you need to.”

Shaking her head, she breathed in a deep breath and looked back at him, “No, go ahead.”

Lant’s assessing gaze roamed over her for a moment before he said, “There is an excellent chance Mando won’t remember arriving here today—perhaps nothing about the day at all. And...” Lant pressed his lips together as he sighed, “...there is a good chance he will have lost more than just today.”

The shock trooper stared at him, “You’re talking amnesia.”

“Yes.”

“How much more than just today?”

Lant shook his head, _“If_ that happens, I won’t know until he wakes up.”

Cara pulled the little guy tighter against herself and Lant was quick to reiterate, “Again, if that happens, the drugs will help curb his anxiety. The bacta will begin to reverse any memory loss he might suffer, but I can’t guarantee anything. It’s just something I need you to keep in mind.”

“Okay...” she released a controlled exhale. “We’ll just take it as it comes, then.”

Lant looked her dead in the eyes, “Cara, I wish I could give you the peace of mind by promising Mando will make a full recovery. I wish to hell that I could.”

Her dark gaze softened, and he told her again, “I believe he will bounce back from this, but it’s going to be a process to get him there. I’ll be there for him throughout, but he could use you or anyone else close to him to help see him through it. I’m not trying to pressure you, but I need to know...is that something you were planning on?”

She nailed him with an expression emitting both strength and determination. Her eyebrow raised just a little as she affirmed, “Of course.”

Lant smiled, “Good deal.”

* * *

Cara had been sitting in the same chair for hours as she watched over the Mandalorian, waiting for him to wake.

Helmeted up, her friend lay slightly elevated in the bed. Positioned onto his back, she could tell the medics had something propped under his knees, and Cara wondered if it was the standard technique for someone who just underwent major back surgery and was now lying there missing a piece of their spine.

Pushing the negative thought from her mind, Cara readjusted in the chair and watched him sleep.

She hadn’t known Din for long. They’d only met up a handful of times, fighting in battle together twice. Still, risking your life beside someone else, fighting tooth and nail _not_ to die, you get to know that person on an almost intimate level during intense situations like that. It was like she’d gained a sibling.

Knowing what her brother-in-arms was going through, the long road of recovery he had ahead of him, the urge to drag Gideon’s corpse behind a ship... the visual went a long way toward tempering her anger when she wanted to punch a hole through the damned wall.

Cara sighed, stretching her arms high above her head. Exhaling a soft groan, she let her hands fall back into her lap as she continued to watch the Mandalorian sleep. In the time she’d been sitting in his room, he hadn’t so much as twitched. The neuro medic _—Lant,_ had said to expect that. He also said that everything had gone smoothly during the surgery and that the replacement vertebra would be ready in about a day.

One more surgery to go before Mando could really start to get his healing underway. 

While they had him back in surgery, Cara had walked around the Guild’s medical center. Wired with too much nervous energy, she hadn’t been able to lay down in the empty patient room Lant had offered them. Tucking the baby’s blue blanket around him, she had paced the halls, alternating between feeding him snacks and swaying as she sang him a popular children’s tune from Alderaan.

That was how the neurosurgeon had found them. Standing in front of a row of floor-to-ceiling windows watching the sun break the horizon, the metallic buzz of automatic doors pushing open had Cara turning, and she watched as Lant had walked through.

Face mask dangling from his neck, he’d still been wearing his surgical scrub cap—black with neon-colored dog prints scattered about. It was unexpected, and maybe it was because she’d been awake for more than a day, but just the sight of it had her grinning. 

Leading them to Din’s room, he’d talked with her, being patient with her questions and the sentences that took her exhausted brain too long to complete. They walked in together and he’d looked over the sleeping Mandalorian in the bed. Everything must have met his satisfaction because then he made sure she had the direct code to his comm in case she needed to reach him.

Confirming that she did, he’d told her not to hesitate to use it. He also told her to let the nurses know if they needed anything, mentioning something about bringing in a cot for her if she wanted. She had only been half-listening by that point. Partly because she was drop-dead tired and partly because she’d been trying to keep the feral baby alien from scrambling out of her arms.

As soon as they had stepped through the door, the kid had made out Din’s still form in the bed and had freaking _begged_ her without words to be near him. Reaching for him and pushing against her arm as he tried wiggling free, the little guy had whined and complained, working hard on her resolve.

Smiling down at the child, Lant had touched his little head, shooting Cara a wink and wishing her luck before taking his leave.

Muttering a moody thanks at the surgeon’s back, she’d listened to the door shutting behind him as she juggled a kid practically vibrating with anxiety. She’d _swear_ he’d managed to make his large eyes seem even bigger. Flattening his ears against his head, he had blinked those porg eyes straight at her, pawing at her chest and complaining with the most pathetic, lonesome sound she’d ever heard, and Cara had caved.

Warning him to be careful, she settled him on the bed beside the little guy’s father. Leaning over her sleeping friend, Cara’s hands hovered over the baby, ready to snatch him back if he made a wrong move as he crawled upward on the bed.

He seemed to sense the situation because his motions were cautious and slow as he scaled the inside of Mando’s arm. Sitting down, the child wiggled his little rear, forcing room between Mando’s arm and side as he rooted in.

Cringing at the way the Mandalorian’s arm got shifted as the kid burrowed in, she almost snatched him back, but then he had curled up like a sleepy tooka cat and became still. Mando had seemed oblivious to it all, and Cara left them alone to take up residence in the large chair beside the bed.

She’d remained in that same spot over the last couple of hours before Mando showed signs of waking up.

They were little movements at first. A twitch of his hand, a small shift of his head, then his helmet pushed back against the pillows. Cara was quiet, watching over him as he surfaced. When she sensed he was close, she reached out and took the child back into her arms.

The kid whined in displeasure, and she told him, “Give him a minute to get his bearings, then I’ll give you back. Okay?” The baby didn’t seem pleased, but he also didn’t put up any more of a fuss, and Cara wondered again if this kid understood way more than they realized.

A stifled grunt came from the bed and Cara looked over to see Mando arching back slightly. Standing, she settled the kid in the seat behind her as she stood beside her friend.

Touching his arm, she warned, “Hey. Probably not the best idea to move your back like that. You’re still injured.”

Becoming still, he turned his helmet to face her but didn’t say anything. The black of his visor met her gaze for a minute and Cara figured his mind was working a little slow, thanks to the drugs or the head injury—or both.

“Where am I?” he mumbled, then looked down and smoothed a hand over the blue top he wore. “What the hell am I wearing...” His gaze shot back up to her. Suddenly seeming more awake, he demanded, “Where is my armor—my weapons?”

“Whoa, easy, Mando. Everything’s gonna be okay.” She spoke to him with calm assurance, “You’re in the med center on Nevarro.” Smirking, she pointed, “That’s called a shirt, and I’m assuming beneath the covers you’ll find pants to match. You just had surgery; be glad they didn’t dress you in a gown with your ass sticking out.”

“My armor.” Head dropping back against the pillows, the guy sounded one breath away from going back under.

Cara gestured at the cabinets on the wall behind her, “Locked up and safe. Your armor and your weapons; I put it all there myself.” He remained facing her for a long moment after that, and she wondered if he had fallen back asleep.

“Are you a nurse? Who are you?”

Cara’s heart stuttered.

“If that’s your idea of a joke, Mando, it is _not_ funny.”

He moved to sit up, “I don’t—” breaking off, he looked down the length of the bed. His gaze fixed on the blanket covering his legs. He exhaled hard then it seemed like he was holding his breath. Taking in his posture, she watched the tension in his frame coil. Then the Mandalorian started straining, and her heart clenched when she realized he was trying to move his legs.

“Mando. Listen to me—”

“What’s...” He was breathing fast. His visor snapped to Cara and then back to the bed, “What’s—I can’t...”

“Hey, easy.” Stepping forward, she touched his arm, “You’re hurt, but you’re going to be—”

Mando swatted her hand away. The motion was just shy of violent.

“Who the hell are you... why can’t I... I can’t...” Shallow, grating breaths started sawing back and forth through the vocoder in his helmet. He was panicking as he struggled to push himself up in the bed, and Cara grabbed his arm.

“Mando, you’re _hurt._ Don’t _—”_

He shoved at her hard, “Stop touching me!”

Pressing back against the bed, Din groaned as he continued to strain against the impossible task of getting his legs to move.

Drugged, weak, and critically injured, the shove had been hard enough to force her back a step. Momentarily stunned at his reaction to her, Cara snapped herself out of it and turned to find help when the door burst open with the neurosurgeon running in.

* * *

Stepping off the elevator, Lant was doing some spiffy people weaving as he sprinted down the hallway, the trilling alarm on his bracer following in his wake.

Years as a surgeon in the neurosciences department had him betting that his patient was awake, most likely confused, and flat-out panicking.

At least he hoped that was why Mando’s heart rate was throwing codes and not something more serious.

Shoving past the door to the Mandalorian’s room, Lant nearly had a head-on collision with Cara, who was on her way out. Throwing out his hands, he grabbed her, bracing himself before they could knock each other out. A strained growl came from the bed and steering Cara to the side, Lant rushed forward.

Mando was moving like he was trying to get somewhere and Lant grabbed him by his biceps, “Hey, hey. Easy, Mando. You’re okay. I need you to slow down.”

The Mandalorian tried to throw him off, but Lant had plenty of experience dealing with combative patients and didn’t budge. Holding Mando’s arms in a firm grip, he leaned in and spoke calm but loud, cutting through the panic and confusion consuming his patient. “Easy, Mando; you’re wounded. You’re safe here. Try to slow down a little bit.”

The Mandalorian’s hands grabbed him, fisting his shirt, tangling the two of them into a stalemate of forces. Lant repeated the same words using the same loud, clear tone. He could feel Mando’s strength beginning to run out. The best thing to do would be to hold him steady, keeping him from moving wrong, and just let himself burn through the panic until he wore himself out.

His visor bore down on him and Lant stared into it, nodding slowly, “Easy. You’re safe here. Slow down so we can talk. We’re just going to talk. Okay?” The Mandalorian’s struggles started to taper off quickly, and Lant repeated with a softer tone, “You’re safe here. I’m your surgeon. I’ve been taking care of you. You can trust me.”

Breathing heavy, the Mandalorian stopped fighting him and leaned back against the bed. With his top still clutched in the warrior’s fists, Lant became locked into a staredown with him. Counting respirations, he could practically hear the panic screaming through the man’s mind.

If this was Mando lightly sedated, he hated to think how he would have reacted to waking up paralyzed and confused, _without_ the drugs.

Leaning in closer, Lant kept up with the calm tones, “I’ll answer whatever you want to know, but you’re seriously injured. I just performed surgery on your back. Keep thrashing around and you’ll harm yourself even more.”

Looking straight into the black glass on Mandalorian’s helmet, Lant squeezed his arms, “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Mando looked back for a beat. His respirations remained elevated as he finally responded, “Yes.”

“Okay; good.” Lant looked him over, “Are you in pain?”

Sounding thoroughly taxed, Mando replied, “My head... hurts.”

Nodding, Lant explained, “You’re dealing with a serious head injury. On a scale from one to ten—ten being unbearable, what’s your pain level?”

“I don’t know; a five, maybe?”

He sighed, “Well, it’s a lot better than when you first showed up, and I’ve given you what I can for the pain. We can try some cold packs for your head. It would help, though the helmet would need to come off...” Lant trailed off as he eyed the blue privacy curtain designed to encircle the bed.

“I—” the Mandalorian took a couple heavy breaths, “—why can’t I move my legs? Where am I?”

“Right now, you’re in the Guild’s medical facility on Nevarro. You have a back injury that caused you some temporary paralysis. I’m Lant Zeprad, your neurosurgeon.”

Mando stared at him for a beat. “Temporary paralysis.”

Holding his arms still, Lant gave the one in his right hand a squeeze, “Yes. Temporary.”

Mando’s visor remained fixed on him, “Where am I?”

He still sounded confused and Lant was sure the head injury was behind most of it. Staring into the black glass in front of him, Lant repeated, “Nevarro. The Guild’s med facility.”

_“Nevarro?”_

Mando’s fists cracked open and released his shirt. Dropping his hands, he shook his head, “I don’t…”

He was still trying to make sense of what Lant was telling him and plucking his ID badge off his shirt, the surgeon passed it to the Mandalorian. “Here. Look at this.”

Mando took the badge. Leaning over him, Lant pointed to a symbol on the bottom left corner, “Do you recognize that?”

“The Guild’s crest.”

Lant nodded, “That’s right.” He sat on the edge of the bed, “Do you know who runs the Guild?”

“Yes. Do you?”

The challenge in Mando’s tone came through loud and clear. Knowing his credibility was being questioned, the medic grinned as he answered, “I do.”

“Who.”

“Greef Karga.” Mando didn’t say anything, and Lant elaborated, “Big guy, knows how to throw his weight around, never met anyone who wasn’t his best friend…”

“That’s him.” Mando passed the ID card back, “What happened to me? Why can’t I move my legs?”

Picking up the slight tremor in the warrior’s voice was easy. Lant had enough experience dealing with his type to know they depended on their strength like Lant depended on air. Speaking carefully, he held up a placating hand as he started from the top.

“You were in a battle and sustained injuries that compromised your spinal cord.” The Mandalorian’s chest picked up the tempo as his breath caught, and Lant touched his forearm, “Your current situation is not permanent. Give it a couple of days and you’ll start regaining sensation in your legs. You won’t be fully healed, but it’ll be the start to getting back full mobility.”

“A couple of days.”

“Before you’ll be able to move and maybe stand. You should start regaining sensation after two or three more bacta infusions.”

Gesturing at the blanket covering his legs, the Mandalorian confirmed, “But this isn’t permanent.”

Leaning in slightly, Lant stressed, “No, Mando. It is not.”

A tight breath got exhaled, then the silver helmet settled back against the pillows.

He was reclipping his badge to his shirt as Cara’s soft voice called from over his shoulder.

“Lant...”

He turned to face her.

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, but her voice was steady as she told him, “Mando doesn’t know me.”

Lant turned and looked at his patient. His visor angled toward him, and Lant hitched a thumb over his shoulder, “You don’t recognize her?”

There was a moment with no response, then Mando shook his head.

Lant’s lips pressed into a tight line. “You only just met me a few hours ago; not remembering me is hardly concerning, but…” Lant tipped his head in Cara’s direction, “She’s your friend, Mando.”

“…friend?”

The word had been spoken with complete skepticism, and Lant nodded. “Yes. She and Karga brought you in. She’s been here the entire time.”

Mando’s helmet moved in slow-motion to angle back up towards Cara.

Lant told him, “Take your time and try to clear your mind. See if anything clicks about her.”

A long moment went by and Mando’s helmet moved with a hesitated shake of his head. Looking at her still, he sounded dazed as he said, “I’m getting the impression I’m missing out on some key details.” 

Raising a hand, Lant looked between Cara and the Mandalorian. “Okay, um, let’s back up and try something else.” Mando faced him again and Lant’s brow knitted under the intensity of his gaze, “Do you know your name?”

“Yes, but I’m not giving it to you.”

A small grin tugged the corner of his mouth, and Lant replied, “I’ll accept that as confirmation, for now.” Looking over his shoulder at the child, he asked, “What about the little one? Do you recognize him?”

Cara stepped closer to the bed and showed the Mandalorian the babe in her arms. He took a long look at the child. Turning back to Lant, his answer seemed a little hesitant, almost like he was afraid to find out.

“No...”

Lant frowned, and Mando asked, “Why, who is he?”

Cara spoke up that time.

“Mando, he’s your foundling.”

His visor snapped back up to her. “What did you just say?”

Mando sounded like he had the air knocked out of him and Lant couldn’t tell if it was because of the specific term she used or that he found out he had a kid.

Cara spoke softly, “He’s your foundling, Mando. He’s been with you for months.”

The Mandalorian’s breathing was kicking up again. “Months… what do you mean, months—” His stare switched to Lant, “How could I have had him for months? I’ve never seen him before—” Back up to Cara, “What do you mean, _months?”_

“Hey.” Lant squeezed the Mandalorian’s forearm. “We’re not going to panic just yet. Okay? Let’s just talk about this.” Taking a breath, he asked, “What is the last thing you remember?”

“Hunting on Tatooine.”

“Okay, and when did that take place?”

The Mandalorian paused.

“Yesterday.”

He didn’t sound certain anymore.

Lant looked at Cara for confirmation and Mando followed along. Looking at her friend for a beat, she turned to the surgeon and shook her head. 

Mando exhaled a frustrated breath, and Lant turned back to him, “Mando, tell me what year it is.”

The Mandalorian’s gaze landed on him for a few seconds. Lant could feel his reluctance to answer the question. Nodding, he offered, “Take your time.”

Finally, he took a breath and answered, “7 ABY.”

The room went silent. The way Mando’s visor skipped between Cara and himself, Lant was pretty sure they were wearing similar expressions. Looking at him again, his patient sounded a little shaky as he asked, “What?”

“Mando,” speaking softly, Lant squeezed his arm again. “It’s 9 ABY.”

The Mandalorian stared at him. Chest rising and falling faster, he swallowed hard, “You’re telling me I’ve lost the last two _years_ of my life...? That I took in a child I don’t remember, and that I’ve forgotten…”

Mando looked at Cara, and Lant watched her plaster on a smile. He could tell she had shot for an encouraging one, but it came out weighted and strained.

Lant leaned in to intercept his line of sight, “This is still not something we’re going to freak out about—Mando, look at me.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet ticked back to face him.

“Again—this is not something to panic about. Not yet. Not until you’ve had at least a few more bacta infusions. Your head injury is substantial—critical. It more than explains the memory loss. The infusions will very possibly reverse it a good amount.”

“...a good amount.” Mando scoffed, shaking his head. “How many years of memories come back with a _good amount?”_

Frowning, Lant touched the side of his patient’s shoulder. “Hey. I get it. I really do. I’ve seen the devastating effects brain injuries can have on people. Believe me when I say, with the brain bleed and the swelling you had, you’re lucky to be even speaking right now. I know it’s hard, but try not to panic about this. Not yet. Give the infusions time to work. I promise you they _will_ help.”

Mando was quiet, and Lant told him, “The fact that you’re doing this well after an injury that severe, it’s an excellent sign that the bacta will continue to reverse the damage. I can’t guarantee it’ll reverse all of it, but we’re just going to take it one day at a time. Then we’ll reevaluate and see where we’re at. Okay?”

The Mandalorian sighed. Looking at Cara and the child, he paused, then turned back to Lant.

“Not much choice to do otherwise.”

Lant smiled, “I’ll take that a yes.”

* * *

Concluding his talk with Mando, Cara watched as Lant gave him a brief check before starting him on another bacta infusion. Then, giving the man in the bed an order to rest and try not to think too hard on the things he must feel were spiraling out of his control, he took his leave.

Remaining rooted to the same spot she’d occupied over the last twenty minutes, Cara watched the door shut behind the neurosurgeon, then turned back to her friend.

They stared at each other for an awkward moment, and she asked, “Do you want me to leave?”

Mando was quiet. Lying still in the bed, he kept looking at her for a beat, then asked, “Is there something you can tell me... some way to prove that I know you—that we’re... friends?”

“Yeah.” Cara smiled, knowing she had something that would squash the hell out of the doubt he still felt. “I can give you your name.”

He watched her through a few controlled breaths. It wasn’t hard to see part of him was nervous that she’d get it right.

Finally, he responded. “Tell me.”

Speaking with a gentle tone, Cara told him: “Din.”

He didn’t react—not outwardly. He just leaned back against the pillows and looked at her for another long moment.

“Yet, you call me Mando.”

“Well, to be fair, I just learned your name yesterday. Old habits and all that.”

“Yesterday… we didn’t get... we’re not…”

“What?”

Without the cowl, Cara could see his throat working for a second before he swallowed. “Married?”

“No. Maker, no—! No, no,” she smiled. “Just good friends.”

“Okay.”

There was a sigh of relief in his response. Considering it for a moment, she took a chance and quipped a retort typical to their usual dynamic. “Wow. Don’t put yourself out trying to hide your relief or anything.”

His visor fixed on her.

She quirked an eyebrow.

There was a slight pause, like he was processing the situation before he came back with, “You didn’t exactly hesitate to refute the possibility.”

His sassy reply was a hundred percent on-brand for her Mando, and Cara grinned wide, “Point taken.”

The silence that settled between them felt lighter, and she asked, “So, do you want me to leave? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by having a stranger sticking around.”

He gave her another one of those long staring pauses before saying, “You’re not a stranger, entirely.”

She felt a spark of hope. “Wait, do you—”

“No, sorry. I still don’t remember you, but I also don’t feel like I want you to leave. Which, considering my present condition, that’s… unusual for me.”

Moving to sit in the chair, Cara smiled, “Well, hey. That might be something trying to come back.”

“Might be.”

The room became quiet again for a little bit until Mando asked, “Do I know your name?”

“You do.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I would, but your medic suggested we hold off on that for twenty-four hours. Just to see if it comes back to you on your own—something about discouraging a suggested type of recall. I didn’t exactly follow, but the way he explained it, it made sense.”

“Okay...” His gaze dipped and he gestured at the child, “Do you know how I found the little womp rat?”

The Mandalorian’s initial reaction to them after waking had the child shying away from him. It was a behavior Cara would never have seen coming. Not in a million years. Regardless, tucking himself into her hold, he had turned away from the Mandalorian as if he could sense the wrongness in his father.

Who knows, maybe he could.

Now, though, hearing the familiar nickname and the way Din’s tone softened as he used it, the baby had turned around to look at him. At first, he just sat back against her and cocked his head as he blinked his huge brown eyes at the Mandalorian. Then he was moving across Cara’s lap toward him.

Din’s visor tracked the kid as he crawled to the edge of her lap.

Cara grabbed the hem of his robe as he braced against her knees, leaning toward the bed. The two stared at each other for a little while, and then the baby cooed, reaching out a tentative hand.

Din looked at it, then slowly moved the hand resting by his hip. Turning it palm-up, he bridged the distance between them.

Stretching for him, the child’s little claw curled around the Mandalorian’s index finger and squeezed. Shifting closer, the kid was about to tumble off her knees, and Cara caught him. She looked at Din, “He wants to go to you. Is that okay?”

Watching the child still, he replied, “Sure.”

His voice sounded soft and just a little bit undecided, and Cara offered, “There is no pressure to take him. You can say no.”

“I know.” Din looked at her, “It’s okay.”

Sliding to the edge of her seat, Cara placed the child on the bed. Shadowing him with her hand, she made sure he didn’t tip over the side as he crawled closer. Pulling himself up by the blanket folded over Din’s waist, the baby leaned over the side of his leg and rested his little arms over the top of his thigh.

The Mandalorian and the child looked at each other. Then the kid reached his arms out, making grabby hands for him.

Cara held her breath, waiting to see how it would go down.

At first, the man in the bed didn’t do anything. A few long beats passed, then he held out his hands. Cooing, the child grabbed a finger on each hand and Mando pulled him up into his lap.

The two engaged into another extended staredown until the kid leaned forward and smacked his hands down against the Mandalorian’s stomach, sounding off with a warbly kind of shout.

“Hi,” came Mando’s reply. Tilting his head against the pillows a little, he said, “They tell me we know each other.”

Sitting back in her seat, Cara smiled as the kid emitted a soft squeak and then blew spit bubbles at him.

“I’ll just take your word for it.”

Cara could hear the grin in his tone, and her smile spread behind her hand.

The Mandalorian’s hand came down against the baby’s back as he turned to her, asking, “Can you help bring me up to speed?”

Looking at him, Cara gave him a nod, “You ask the questions, and I’ll fill in what I can.”

_TBC_


End file.
